Round 6

As Jeane's grip on the lamp base tightened, the ceramic ashtray shattered, shards of ceramic flying through the air. The sound was like a sharp crack, followed by the sudden silence of the kitchen. The Force's flashlight beam sliced through the darkness, illuminating Jeane's frantic form, her eyes fixed on the lamp base as if it were her only lifeline. The heavy iron poker lay on the counter beside her, within reach but secondary.

Jeane clutched the brass lamp base like a club, her knuckles white. The sound of the ashtray breaking felt like an alarm bell that she couldn't take back—too loud, too sudden in the quiet house. She backed against the kitchen counter, her eyes fixed on the dark doorway leading to the living room. Her heart hammered in her chest as she needed a plan. She raised her voice to the darkness, trying to sound threatening without giving away her position.

The Force moved slowly across the tile floor, her flashlight beam tight and low, sweeping under the island counter first, checking behind the pantry door. No one was there yet. Good. Clear. The back door lock was solid. Windows were shut. If she ran, Jeane was still close inside somewhere. Hiding. Listening. Panicking.